A Taste of Steel and Wine
by Whitefrost
Summary: Yes, Tyrion decided, Sansa was certainly beautiful. He would have fought a war for her too, if given the choice. He understood why Robb loved her; why he was willing to go to extreme lengths for her. - Implied incest. I do not own.


The sound of war outside thundering against the doors, causing some of the hidden and wounded to flinch in surprise. "What a great idea you have, sweet sister," he says, raising his cup towards his sister in a fake salute. "To hoard us all here," he brings the cup to his lips and almost throws it away in surprise at how bitter it tastes. He takes a mouthful, swashes it around in his mouth before swallowing. He loudly drops his cup onto the table and looks seriously at the golden-haired woman.

She's watching him with undisguised disgust, her fingers twitching and clenching around her own cup, the rim pressed to her lips and her eyes dark with repressed aggression. "Well, you hadn't really counted on them attacking us again, had you," she chooses to say, her lips thinning out in a scowl when she raises her pale green eyes to him. "And you consider yourself the smart one amongst us lions." She brings the cup back to her lips and stares unseeingly forward before taking a long, slow, sip.

Tyrion raises his eyebrows at her, but his contempt is plain on his face. "Ah, yes, well, I'm not all knowing; even a fool would know that," he says, taking the bait. "Perhaps you should be proud of the fact that you could be counted among them." Cersei glances sharply at him and instead he smiles, a gruesome sight for it tightened his muscles along his scar, which was a ghastly sight indeed. At least, Bronn had the courtesy to confess to it.

Cersei doesn't fight back this time and instead scowls into her cup, swirling the red wine inside with distaste. She doesn't say anything while Tyrion glances around, wondering how exactly Cersei had managed to sneak all the wounded and the rest inside this sanctuary, away from the war going on outside, the war of Lions versus the Wolves and Stag. He had a suspicion of who would win, but he didn't voice hi opinion on that yet. "How could we have lost?" he hear Cersei ask and he spares a glance at her, noticing her not taking her eyes away from the gold-rimmed cup in her hands.

"Nobody expected for Robb to side with Stannis," Tyrion confesses, "The Stark boy seemed too proud of his own feats to be willing to accept Stannis as his king." He pauses only for a breath before plowing through, "It seems much more likely that they sided together because having half a kingdom is better than none."

"Stannis is too proud," Cersei butts in, her eyes narrowed and impish as she glared at him. "He would never allow for Robb to rule the North. He will demand Sansa from us. He'll marry her to ensure that Robb will not rebel." She sounded so _sure, _so _positive_, of her own deductions that Tyrion laughed at her openly, more of a mocking and dubious laugh than a friendly jest. She immedietly scowls at him and he sobers quickly.

"No, Robb would never let Sansa marry Stannis," the dwarf concludes, "and once he has her he has no other reason to rebel; he'll most likely have our heads by then." He's already seeing the doubt and suspicious cloud his older sister's eyes. He sees her chew on her own tongue, stopping herself from asking the question that she obviously wanted to ask. Her high cheekbones and pale green eyes and thin, arching eyebrows gave her a pretty face, and giving her a pale but still healthy complexion and silky hair that fell down her back in golden locks was enough to make her beautiful. But then Tyrion looks at Sansa and realizes that the Stark girl will be beautiful as well, if her present prettiness was anything to go by.

She was willowy where Cersei had been round and curvaceous. She had smooth and thin legs that seemed to go on forever, with a slim waist and a modest bust. Her cheekbones were lower, and her face narrower but shorter, a slightly upturned nose but not anywhere near pig-like or snobbish. Small but plump lips and narrowed, suspicious blue eyes with dark rings along the outsides with long, pale lashes, and thin but long eyebrows. Her hair was like sunlight; fire personified in long tendrils of hair that swooped and curved and tumbled along her temples, the few strands that she allowed from her neat pleated hair.

Yes, Tyrion decided, Sansa was certainly beautiful. He would have fought a war for her too, if given the choice. He understood why Robb loved her; why he was willing to go to extreme lengths for her.

"Robb is winning a war for her," Tyrion explains, purposefully moving his gaze when he feels the Stark girl look up, feeling his eyes on her. He instead chooses to look at Cersei. He can still see the question in her eyes so he impatiently explains bluntly, "For what is a king without his queen?"

Cersei's eyes widen and her cup almost slips. Tyrion doesn't have time to determine if it's because of the realization of what Tyrion implied, or if it was because of the soldiers barging into the sanctuary. They're being leaded out quickly and Tyrion can only pause for a brief moment to spare a glance at the surprised, but evidently pleased, Sansa. Their eyes meet once but before either of them can say anything, he's hoisted away. He knows it's probably going to be the last time they see each other, so his goodbye is hushed and whispered when she disappears into the crowd, his hope going with her.


End file.
